


Mouthful of bitter and breath

by CloveeD



Series: Mating games: Teen Wolf 2014 Entries [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale/Life Failures, M/M, Other, now squint, oh and tentacles, post 3b, pre-s4, the rape is not between derek and stiles, the sterek is only there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloveeD/pseuds/CloveeD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mating Games Teen Wolf 2014 Challenge 4 Light VS Dark</p><p>I guess it's just very dark at the bottom of a pool of your life failures until someone pulls you out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mouthful of bitter and breath

When he opened his eyes he was at the bottom of that damned 8 feet of chlorine flushed water and giving up again. He shouldn't have opened his eyes, he thought. It was easier to drown with your eyes closed, because at least you wouldn't have to look in absolute powerlessness up at where the air was, just out of reach. Something felt off, though - something was supposed to happen, something important. He was thinking with surprising clarity beneath 8 feet of water, and his lungs hadn't even began to burn yet. Drowning should be more laborious than this - Derek knew from experience.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Derek counted his fingers, and angrily snapped at his dream, "---Stop this, right now. I have things to do---"

The chlorine water grew murky around him, as though a mocking, live entity, and writhed in tendrils of black. Beginning from his feet the smoggy tendrils pulled him downward by his ankles, their mood visibly stormy and rumbly, water-falling the way smoke did when flames met a dead end seeking oxygen. Derek knew that from experience too.

"Stop this, wake up, I have---" The smoggy tendrils writhed into his mouth, stuffing it full and stretching it wide, his throat felt torn raw and opened, and other spikes of smurky water shot up past his caught ankles and impaled him in between the legs. Derek let out a muffled gurgle, and he wasn't even sure when his jeans had ripped to shreds, but the thrust and curl of the tendrils spearing him full was jostling him up and down like an anxious young buck ride. The intrusion was so violent, Derek blacked out.

When he came to, the murky waters were still at it, spreading Derek's thighs wide like a barren whore, fucking him deep. There was no actual pain, per say. More like thrusting feelings of disgust, brute invasion and trapping helplessness. His desperate biting and clawing were nothing, neither did reasoning, pleading and shameless begging. ---This was his life, though - Derek didn't know why he was surprised. Derek didn’t know how much time had passed. It was better to not think too much about it, he thought. It was best to think of your body as nothing that feels.  _You are a rock. You are silent. You are unfeeling._  This Derek knew from experience as well.

And then.

And then a hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed Derek by his scruff. He was pulled out of the water and he was wet and disgusting and nothing made sense. Derek took one look at Stiles, who was supposed to have been here much earlier than this, and threw up all over the boy's lap.

“What are you doing here?” Derek's voice cracked. “This is a dream. My dream. Get out.” He was just gangbanged by his life failures; he didn't need an audience.

"--What?" Stiles' face scrunched up, and looked down pointedly at his lapful of Derek's vomit, and then back up at Derek, "---No, no Derek, you're awake--here," he held up Derek's hand, and they count together. One, two, three, four, five. (That can't be right, Derek thought. _One, two, three, four, five._ ) He wished he could throw up again now. "Your proof of reality sucks." Derek told the human boy, who shrugged, eyeballing him without subtlety. Derek eyeballed himself also. All of his clothes were intact, apparently, and they were on the floor of his loft, no pool aside from a puddle of Derek's own blood.

Oh yeah. Kate shot him, again. Derek eyed the discarded lighter beside his hip and the burnt remains of wolfsbane powders.

"How did you get the wolfsbane?" Derek asked in mild confusion, as though surprised that--he wasn't sure what he was surprised by. He was surprised.

"Allison's dad." Stiles' voice was still a hint clipped whenever mentioning her name, but sat down with a sigh that was older than the room's air. "He went to scout the parameter. You were drowning internally. Are you, uh," Stiles made a gesture as though to encompass all the descriptives - sane? Okay now?  _Not possessed, maybe?_

Derek nodded minutely, not wanting to give it a word. He probably should thank Stiles. Never really did. But for now he just wanted to sit here, where Stiles sat down. This felt safe. ****


End file.
